One, Two, Three
by genies
Summary: Draco hates piano, waltzes, and everything. Until he gets the right teacher.
Written for Arithmancy class at Hogwarts.

Prompt: For this assignment, I want you to write me a story which shows someone playing a musical instrument. Used the extra credit by writing about Draco Malfoy.

Wc: 1183

* * *

Like any respectable Pureblood, Draco Malfoy was taught to play the piano (which was a Wizarding instrument before some Muggleborn let out the secret) and a special wizarding instrument called the ried, which would pulse with different chords and colors as different feelings were projected towards it. For example, if a person thought of their sweetheart in a diaphanous dress, the instrument would send a chord that accurately reflected that feeling. Reading music for this instrument was very subjective and had a different result each time. But, beware, if an emotion was unclear, a sound like the clashing of a million pans would ring to the heavens and back.

So, Draco started with the piano to learn music theory and how to conduct oneself at a party, which was the primary reason he had to learn the piano in the first place.

"What are you doing?" his teacher asked, his voice icy cold. "One doesn't plunk on the piano like it's some sort of primal drum."

Draco removed his hands from the keys, holding in his sigh as his teacher transfigured the piano to normal height.

"Hop off for a moment," his teacher instructed.

Draco did, and stood behind his teacher's back as he played the simple melody that Draco was supposed to have practiced. Eight-year-olds who were forced to take music lessons never really were good at the practicing bit of learning an instrument.

"Watch how my wrist bows into the triad."

Draco made a face at the back of his teacher's head and held up a mocking finger to mimic his teacher's dramatic conducting.

"Now you try." Draco found the piano and his chair shrunk back to his height and sat down reluctantly. He didn't even like to listen to the piano when it was pretty and being played by professionals; how was he supposed to enjoy this?

"And, the waltz," his teacher said. "Remember your posture."

Draco started to play, screaming along in his head.

"One and two and three and, one two three. One two three," his teacher counted along. "Merlin! Stop, stop!"

"I don't like this waltz. It's ugly," Draco pouted.

"It's only ugly because you make it so."

"No," Draco said. "Even when you play it, it's ugly."

Draco saw the impatient fury on this concert pianist's face as he said this, and smirked inwardly. It was just his luck that his teacher had a short fuse. If he kept this up, perhaps he wouldn't even have a teacher next week. Of course, Mother would then find a new one, but at least he wouldn't have to play this stinking waltz again.

"Fine," his teacher said, sitting back into his chair with an angry huff. "Practice your scales."

Of course, Draco thought, exasperated.

He was right about one thing, even if he couldn't get any of the pieces right. His teacher quit the next day, saying that he wanted to find other Pureblood children with more appreciation for the art and more respect for their elders. Draco rolled his eyes. What an obnoxious, pretentious twerp.

A week later, Draco was playing with the trains that his grandfather had gotten him for Yule when the familiar sound of his mother's high heels came tapping down the hallway. Draco wanted to hide but was too lazy to get up and do it. He was practically already found, anyway. He resolved to pretend to not notice anything.

His mother's footsteps stopped. "Draco, dear, your new pianist teacher has arrived."

Draco threw his train against the wall with part accidental magic, and part arm (he didn't mean to throw it that hard). It shattered against the wall.

"Draco, that was an antique!"

"Grandfather is an antique."

His mother gasped. "Be respectful!"

"Yes, ma'am."

He hurled himself to his feet and stumbled down the hallway with overly slumped shoulders. He really wanted to let everybody know that he wasn't happy to do this.

As he rounded the stairwell, he tried to predict what his teacher would be like. He'd probably be like the others, dressed in formal robes, with slick hair, and an upturned nose with pert lips that would say, "modern music is atrocious," before you could say, "I bought this new record today."

"Hello, Draco."

Draco slowly looked up, inspecting every inch of his new instructor. Ballet shoes, bright orange robes, a flower boquete in hand, and...were those bumblebee tights?

"My name is Emma and we'll be having fun all afternoon, I promise." She winked.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," Draco said in distaste. Fun. Gross.

"I'm afraid I'm unaware of where your piano room is, Madam Malfoy," Emma said to his mother.

"I'll lead the way."

Draco turned on his heel to begin trudging behind them, but Emma would not let him. "Let's walk side by side," she said. "What's your favorite subject?"

Not piano, that's for sure, Draco almost said. "Arithmancy."

"Oh, what fun! There is a lot of maths in music, particularly proportions and fractions. Are you good at those?"

Draco frowned. "Um, we just started those."

"We?"

"My math tutor and I."

"Excellent. Then, explaining counting will be a lot easier."

"My previous teachers already have."

"I'm sure they've never explained it the way I will."

Draco raised his eyebrows, intrigued. "What do you mean?"

"You'll have to find out." Emma winked again.

"Here we are," Narcissa said.

"I'll bet you a lemon drop that we can cross under the door at the same time," Emma said.

They entered the room together.

"Oh, how beautiful! The high ceiling should make such a wonderful sound. And oh, the windows are magnificent."

She skipped to the piano and set down his bags. "Thank you, Madam Malfoy."

Narcissa ducked out of the room and pushed Draco towards the piano.

"Take a seat, Draco," Emma said. Draco did. "No, no, not like that. Watch me. We'll pretend that the door is where the audience is sitting."

Draco got up and Emma went around the way farthest from the door and sat down with a composed flourish of her robes. "Pretend there is an audience here. Walk from over there." She pointed to a bookcase ten meters away.

"Okay," Draco said, not buying it. Suddenly, the sound of clapping filled the room. Wild applause and hoots filled his ears, sank to his stomach and stewed there. He was performing. He was performing for all of his friends, and celebrities, and the Minister of Magic, too. A shudder went through him.

Draco sat, and the applause died off. Emma put down her wand. "Now raise your hands above the keyboard with the intention of playing. Gracefully, now."

Draco tried to raise his arms with as much elegance as he could. Emma did the same movement from her chair.

"What will you be playing for us, my dear?"

Draco wracked his mind, trying to think of a song that he knew. "Uh, a waltz."

"Uh, a waltz?"

"A Waltz for a Kitten," he said, more assertively this time.

He counted off in his head. _One, two, three. One, two, three._ And played.


End file.
